80 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



LETTER XII. 



LOST IN THE WOODS — AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS DAUGH- 

 TER — MITCHELL — ADIRONDAC IRON WORKS. 



In the Woods, August. 



It was with weary forms and subdued hearts we 

 turned the prows of our boats down the lake, and left 

 the place of our encampment, probably for ever. No 

 one who has not traveled in the woods can appreciate 

 the feelings of regret with which one leaves the spot 

 where he has pitched his tent only for a single day 

 or night. The half-extinguished firebrands scattered 

 around, the broken sticks that for the time seemed 

 valuable as silver forks, and the deserted shanty, all 

 have a desolate appearance, and it seems like forsak- 

 ing trusty friends to leave them there in the forest 

 alone. 



The morning was sombre and the wind fresh as we 

 pulled down the lake and again entered the narrow* 

 river that pierced so adventurously the dark bosom of 

 the forest. The fatiguing task of carr^ung our boats 

 was performed over again, with the additional burden 

 of the deer we had but partially consumed. At one 

 carrying-place, P. took two rifles and an overcoat as 

 his part of the freight, and started off in advance. 



